Whispers in the Shadows
by LadyDragon1316
Summary: On the run from her latest job, an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood is in big trouble. But there's someone out there in the dark who might be just what she needs. (from the universe of the Lady of the Isles) *one-shot*


**Ugh! I hate Skyrim...Not because it's a bad game, but because it keeps spawning story bunnies in my head.**

**This is a one-shot from the universe of the Lady of the Isles. I don't feel like I can start writing the whole story yet, but that doesn't keep things from popping into my brain. This one, at least, is a one-shot that I am willing to post. For those of you following my main story, it will be more agonizing promise of the Skyrim tale to come. There's nothing quite like sharing author's agony with the readership, is there?**

They shouldn't have found him so soon. But then again, when faced with 'should' versus 'actually', one was much more likely to fling a steaming pile of mammoth dung in your face than the other. Thank Sithis her brother had relocated to Cyrodiil or she'd never hear the end of this one. Even if it was just bad luck that whatever guard had done his rounds early in that sect of the Dragonsreach. It was a big damned building. He wasn't supposed to be found for hours, well after she was out of Whiterun. Now she was running for her skin, in her Brotherhood leathers no less, sticking to shadows while a cacophony of guards scurried around searching for a murderer. Sithis take it!

The young woman managed to get through the Cloud District without getting spotted. A trio of her clanking pursuers cut off her attempt on the front gate, through no intelligence of their own, and she had to backtrack.

Just at the instant when she was thinking of finding somewhere to hide until the clamor had expanded to a larger, and hopefully more sparsely concentrated area, the young assassin came around a corner and found someone standing directly in her path. Almost like he'd been waiting for her.

Nord, like her. Lanky, but that was normal for youth his age. He hadn't grown into his shoulders yet, even if he'd achieved his lifelong height. Most wouldn't have been able to tell his hair color in the available lighting. But she'd lived most of her life in preferred darkness and could see the hue of stained redwood cut precisely at his ears. She could also see that the tailoring of his clothes was fine and hand stitched, the cloth high end. Same could be said for whatever garment was hanging over his arm. A noble's brat if ever she'd seen one, right out of his boyhood and dolled up for the evening.

She should have cut him down then and kept moving. A warm body would leave an indication of her location for the guards. But so would the brat shouting for soldiers in a minute now that he was being confronted by a woman in dark leather, running as fast in the shadows as the guards were in the streets, shouting 'murder' to the entire hold.

But while his appearance shouted 'noble brat', his eyes told a different story. There was something dark in this one. A quiet severity that she'd more expect to find in one of her family. But she knew every one of her dark siblings in this province, and this wasn't one of them. But the aura of darkness was unmistakable though, and it stayed her hand briefly.

Long enough for the young man to take the garment from his arm and offer it to her, "Hurry. Put this on."

The assassin flinched and she prepared to strike, "What are you playing at?" Maybe he was a halfwit. But even a halfwit would know at first sight that she was up to no good. And had botched her escape to boot.

"If they come around and see you dressed like that, you'll be caught. I was sent to help. So put this on. Quickly." He was a smart kid not to take a step toward her at this point. She was wound so tight, chances were she'd kill him for making any attempt to approach. The assassin weighed her options frantically. The clamor of steel garbed feet a hundred feet away forced the decision.

The young woman leapt forward and snatched the garment from him. It turned out to be a woman's robe, sized oddly well for her, with long sleeves and a nearly ground length hem. Perfect for hiding the armor she wore. She cast it over her head and felt him help in pulling it all the way over her leathers.

"You'll want to get your hood off. And your gauntlets," he advised.

The assassin hesitated for an instant about revealing her face, but saw the advisability of his suggestion. The robe wouldn't help much if she still looked like she was wearing an assassin's garb underneath. She tore the hood down, letting her fair hair fall out of the bun she'd twisted it into. The gauntlets were next. Before she could think about where to put them, her hero snatched them from her grasp and tucked the lot into his pocket.

Just in time, too. The clank of soldiers' feet seemed to be converging on them. As a last spark of inspiration, the woman hooked an arm around the man's neck and hauled him with her until she had her back to the wall of the nearest building. Then she kissed him. Hard. The movement was a surprise to him, but he quickly picked up the idea of the ruse and wound his arms around her, pushing her against the wall and kissing her back. Pretty eagerly, too. If her life weren't in danger just now, the assassin might have nicked him good for it.

From behind her closed eyelids, the assassin tracked the growing cast of torchlight as it advanced around the corner of the buildings and was thrown over her and her conspirator. The two of them broke off what they were doing and squinted over at the small contingent of guards that held the light's sway and had come to a halt upon finding people where they had been searching. The automatic order leapt from the forerunner's mouth, "Halt!"

The assassin lifted her arm to shield her eyes from the torch's glare but, in truth, more to shield her face from the guards' sight. She also shifted her hips to get a better feel for her dagger where it hung, just in case she had to go fishing under her robe for it.

Her hero did not reduce himself to the same motion. And did not remove his arms from around her. "Do you mind?" he demanded. "We're just trying to get a little privacy here."

The assassin expected them to start up some brusque questioning over whether or not they'd seen anyone and possibly demand their alibi. Instead she denoted a slight recoil and that forerunner rushed to cover himself, "Sorry, my lord. We're in pursuit of a murderer."

"A murderer?" The encircling arms loosened, moving to rest on her hips instead of around them, but the hands did not come away. "Who was the victim?"

The guard bowed his head respectfully and lowered his voice as if it might soften the blow, "Your brother, sir. Lord Frothar."

The woman muffled her flinch to a tiny jerk. The guards would quite easily have mistaken it for surprise. And it most certainly was. Her mark had been this one's brother? Out of the corner of her eye she watched her hero. He looked genuinely shocked. She prepared herself mentally. In a few seconds, she expected him to use the leverage he had on her waist to throw her to the wolves. There was no way she'd get away clean now.

At this point she had to decide whether or not to go for her weapon. The robe was a hindrance. By the time she got the hem up and her hand on the hilt, they'd be all over her. She'd probably just get killed fighting. The, relatively, better option was to just surrender. And pray to the Night Mother her family came and got her out before she got executed. Damn. If she got back to the Sanctuary alive, she was so going to get chewed out for getting caught like this.

But her hero made no such move against her. He gaped, traumatized by the news of his brother's murder, but made no such attempt to turn her in. "Frothar? Dead?"

"Yes, my lord. We're searching everywhere. They won't get far. I swear it."

Her hero loosed one hand to press it to his face, coming to terms with the heavy news. The assassin had a brief thought of slipping from his other arm and making a run for it. He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking because her hero tightened his grip. Back to the guards, he asked, "What about my father? And my sister?"

"We've got a detail on both, my lord. We should escort you back to Dragonsreach. The murderer is likely still in the city."

"No!" her hero yelled, startling even her with the force of his order. "You keep searching. You find whoever did this!"

The soldiers hesitated, "We are, sir. But you are in danger out here. We can't in good conscience leave you undefended when the killer might—"

"I will return to Dragonsreach immediately. You will keep searching for my brother's killer. Every house. Every alley. Every corner of Whiterun! I—" His voice broke amidst the volume that was spilling from him. The woman pretended to comfort him, still wary of whether or not he was going to blow her cover in the next moment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered "…I need to get back to my father. I should be with him now." The young man pulled himself together with some difficulty and gave a direct order to the uniforms, "All of you, continue your search. Find the one who did this." The forerunner soldier attempted an argument. "Now! I'll return to Dragonsreach. Every soldier in the city should be on the search. Go!"

The men saluted and scattered, running back to the street or past the pair of young folks into the backstreet beyond. It wasn't a minute before the two were alone again. The instant they were, the façade of 'grieving brother' dropped and her hero almost smirked into the dark, "Well…I think they bought that."

He went silent as the prick of a dagger was felt at his inner thigh. The assassin glared up at him. In the midst of the conversation with those guards she'd managed to get to her knife.

"Nelkir. Son of Balgruuf the Greater. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't add another body to your family crypt tonight." Most men assumed this was a threat against their family jewels. The young woman was more interested in the artery in the leg that, once sliced, would result in a bleed out in less than thirty seconds. His little show for the soldiers might give her enough of a window to escape. Even with the body she'd leave behind. How likely was it those guards would remember her face with this guy yelling at them?

Nelkir didn't flinch. Staring down the one who'd killed his blood and was perfectly willing to cut him down as well, he didn't react. At all. He didn't bargain. He didn't argue about how he'd just saved her life. None of that. Instead, he looked at her, dead on, and did exactly as she'd demanded. "Because I'm the one who asked for the contract."

Well…that seemed a decent enough reason to keep his blood off the streets…for a little while.

Nelkir glanced down at where her threat was positioned, then back at her, "You can put that away. We still need to get you out of the city. For both our sakes."

Her glare intensified, "And why would you want to do that?"

"I did just hide you from discovery. That would probably get me in trouble if you got caught. And I don't actually want anyone knowing you killed Frothar. I'd much rather they… 'figure out' it was someone else."

The assassin tried to get a read on him. But she was never much good at that. Actually, this Nelkir kind of reminded her of the Spectral Lachance. Kind of. This kid was a lot more haughty, and there was no way he could ever inspire the kind of 'piss your pants' terror that the spectral assassin could. Still, she lowered her blade. But kept it folded against her forearm for easy access.

The young man offered his arm with a smile that looked false, "If we're gonna keep up appearances then we should probably pretend I'm escorting you."

She looked at his arm and then back at him, not giving him the satisfaction of a quick answer to a pretty practical proposal. But she ended up replying with a smile that was equally faked, "For appearances. Of course."

The young woman hooked her arm over the Jarl's son's and they walked out onto the street together. Nelkir turned out to be a human shield. Any guard who approached gave a salute or a formal greeting. Not a one paid her any mind. It was kind of impressive how they treated this guy. He couldn't have seen more than twenty seasons. But all these soldiers seemed genuinely respectful.

"So where are we going?" she asked when they had a minute alone.

"To get you out of the city," he replied.

"Yeah, but how? You can't exactly walk me out the front gates."

"Oh, I know a way," Nelkir said, smug as a bandit with an ace in his boot. "It's a closely kept secret. You wouldn't believe the secrets in this city. And I know them all."

"Like your brother's?" Her curiosity got the better of her and she had to ask. The young woman had never gotten to deal with a client before. Maybe she'd hear the plot of this assassination first hand instead of from one of her family members.

Nelkir laughed, "My brother was too stupid to keep secrets. Not because he was honest. He just didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. Got him into trouble sometimes. And once they find what I hid under the floorboards in his bed chamber, they'll figure any number of people could have knocked him off. If you killed him right, that is."

The assassin bristled, "I did it right."

Instead of a cringe, he grinned, "Okay, okay. I guess you just look young for an assassin."

"I'm sixteen, you ass. And I've got twice that number of marks under my belt."

"Okay, okay," he repeated, giving his haughtiness a break to avoid antagonizing her.

They walked a little further in silence. Up to the plaza where the little sprout of a Gildergreen was growing. Her curiosity roiled until another question was forced from her mouth, "So why have him killed?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he retorted. "My brother's next in line to be Jarl. Pig-headed as he was, there'd be no denying him. But now…"

"Now it's just you… What about your sister?" There was still one other in this brood.

"That brat's barely coherent. If she makes a fuss, I'll deal with it when it happens." The woman sniggered. "What's so funny?"

She shrugged, "Nothing. It's just… When I first saw you, I thought you were the brat."

He smiled back with a look she was starting to recognize as one of an experienced deceiver. "Maybe sometimes. Depends on who I'm talking to. And what I want from them."

"And this time, you wanted the throne of Dragonsreach," she remarked, mostly to herself.

"Yeah…just not for the reasons you're thinking."

She copied his smirk, "Power? Wealth? Influence?"

"Usefulness."

"To who?"

The young Nelkir turned cryptic, "You know who." He glanced down at her, "How is she by the way?"

The assassin kept herself from reacting. But that was a tell in and of itself. Not reacting was a reaction, if you knew how to spot it. And, Sithis take him, this one did.

"Don't worry," her hero reassured her as he averted his attention to the street again. "I know better than to say anything. Besides, the whole point of this is so I be useful."

"Useful…right. Like how you've been so useful tonight?"

He eyed her from a slanted gaze, "You have to admit. It was a good thing I was there."

She glared right back, "And how exactly did you know I was going to be there?"

Her hero got all smug again. A guy with a secret. "Just a little whisper I heard. I've learned to listen to them."

They'd come up to the steps of Jorrvaskr, the mead-hall of the Companions. At the base of the steps, the assassin halted, stopping her escort in the process. "I can't go up there. Nobody's allowed up there." It was a rule that stood as tall and unyielding as the Tenets. No assassins. No thieves. No nothing in Jorrvaskr.

The young man asked, "Do you know why?" There was that smirk again. Nelkir knew the reason. The Lady hadn't told any one of them, even when she was pressing the rule into place. But this guy…he knew. And he looked ready to share. This little secret the Lady kept…all the assassin had to do was ask and—

"No," came the answer from her lips. "And I don't need to know. Are you gonna get me out of here, or what?" A superhuman effort, that was. But some things were meant to stay secret. If the Lady wasn't telling, then it wasn't worth telling ever. No matter what.

Her hero shrugged, "Alright, then. We're not actually going _in_ Jorrvaskr. Just around the side."

He tugged on her arm and she eventually let him take her up the steps. They avoided the front door and headed northward toward the Skyforge. At the base of the high wall the forge sat upon, he took her to a part of the wall and activated some kind of mechanism. A portion of the wall slid back and to the side, exposing a passage.

The room beyond was some kind of ritual chamber. There was a basin with blood stains inside, a few altars with some various pieces on them. And the whole place smelled like wet dog. Her hero finally let go of her arm and showed her a passage going out the other end of the room. There was an abrupt drop and she felt a regular breeze coming up the shaft that smelled like the fields outside of Whiterun.

"You can use this to get out of the city. No one will follow you. I sort of figure you've got things ready out there."

The assassin stood at the edge but didn't take the leap yet. "And what are you going to do?"

The Jarl's son shrugged, "Mourn my brother. Comfort my father. Be strength for the city as it grieves. Make sure that disparaging evidence is discovered. All those good things a future Jarl should do."

"Hm. You've just got this whole thing worked out, don't you?"

"Plans are something the Lady taught me. Secrets aren't much use if they're not used."

"Hm." The assassin turned to the drop and took a judge of distance before dropping the twelve or so feet to the ground below. The tunnel was short and, sure enough, there was the night sky and the expanse of Whiterun Hold's grassy plains. Her horse would be to the north in close proximity to the city with all she'd need to get back to the Sanctuary.

"Hey," Nelkir called down. "You never told me your name."

She looked up at him, "No. I didn't." It felt kinda good to give Mr. Arrogant a little jab. But he had helped her out. And there was that darkness in him that made him feel familiar. Especially for someone outside the family. "Runa. Runa Fair-Shield."

The smile he gave was… actually genuine this time. "See you around, Runa."

She smiled back, maybe a little more genuinely too. "Yeah… you just might."

And with that she took off, out onto the plains and into the night's embrace.

**Hope you enjoyed. I'll go back to writing now.**


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